


pity to the pitiful

by grundlemuncher



Series: the path of least resistance [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Fontcest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grundlemuncher/pseuds/grundlemuncher
Summary: sans is sad, papyrus is in love, and sans is sad because papyrus is in lovesurely a little sex will fix things





	pity to the pitiful

Today is a bad day.

Today is a bad day made worse because it followed so many _good_ days. Papyrus had been positive that Sans had been getting better, and as for Sans, well, _you_ try looking up at that big blocky smile and remain entirely unconvinced. Sometimes Sans wondered if it would’ve been easier without Papyrus - there would’ve been no HOPE to get up in the first place.

Sans thinks of the machine that ~~gasters~~ gathers dust in the basement, or his phd laying in a drawer somewhere, and wonders how much whiskey it’ll take to wash away all those old equations he spent so many late nights pounding into his skull. Useless, now. Useless. Useless.

Soul twinging with an untouchable pain, Sans rubs at his sternum, right over where it lies. It’s dangerous to think like that.

Sans has been thinking a lot of dangerous things, lately.

Evening falls across the Underground, an artificial sunset casting bars of light that slide down his bedroom wall. Sans’ eye lights follow them, but inside his skull he is somewhere else, someone else, and the thing that was Sans the Skeleton lays half-gone in his bed until the front door slams open.

“SANS! I’M HOME!!”

Eye sockets shut tight, blankets over his skull, Sans can still feel when Papyrus enters his room.

His over abundance, exuberance, excitement- it all starts to pale, like the sun has set on his soul.

“SANS?” He starts, carefully.

Sans doesn’t reply - he lays in his little niche of garbage where he belongs. Distantly, he recognizes his brother’s careful footsteps, heavy boots carefully stepping quietly as they can into the carpet. But if Sans could do anything, it isn’t this.

He lays untouched in his cocoon.

“HAVE YOU BEEN HERE ALL DAY?”

He doesn’t need to reply, but for the first time all day, he manages something.

“nah, bro,” Sans mumbles, voice cracking from disuse. “just takin a nap is all.”

There’s only silence from Papyrus, but Sans feels distinctly as the mattress dips against his back, his brother close. There’s another beat, and then he’s rubbing at Sans’ shoulder blades through the blankets. Sans leans into the touch with an embarrassing sigh.

“IS IT… ARE YOU SAD, AGAIN?”

“no, i’m sans.”

He can hear Papyrus rolling his eye sockets.

“damn, not even a pity laugh?”

“YOU DON’T NEED PITY.” Papyrus’ voice is uncharacteristically soft. Sans has the uncomfortable feeling he isn’t talking about the bad joke.

“YOU JUST NEED HELP SOMETIMES. EVERYONE DOES.”

To that, Sans doesn’t reply. The two sit in a companionable silence bred from years of amenity, as Papyrus does his best to massage happiness into his brother.

“…WILL YOU COME DOWNSTAIRS FOR ME? I STOPPED BY GRILLBY’S ON THE WAY HOME. WE CAN EAT AND WATCH THAT SCI FI PROGRAM YOU LIKE.” He breaks the silence tepidly.

The thing is, Sans wants that more than _anything_. And yet, Papyrus isn’t surprised when he turns farther away from him, curling deeper into himself.

This is how it is with Sans. And it’s up to Papyrus to fix him.

“OKAY.” The younger brother relents, “STAY RIGHT HERE.” Papyrus leans down to press a soft kiss to Sans’ skull before getting to his feet.

Sans listens to the soft thuds of his brother’s retreating form, eye lights half-focused on his blank wall as his mind begins to wander once more.

It was several months ago that Papyrus told Sans he loved him. It was Sans’ fault, really - he’d let things progress too far, they’d been fooling around too frequently, and Papyrus, well, his brother had always craved affection. Here Sans had been handing it out - kisses that lingered, fingers that strayed too low and stayed too long, coaxing cries and finishes that of course left his brother thinking they were lovers. Sans’ fault. Always Sans’ fault.

And now, with Sans not reciprocating, the two had never been further apart. Smiles are strained, touches limited - today is probably the longest he’s felt Papyrus in ages. He feels starved for his brother.

Papyrus, as always, breaks up his depressive thoughts as his heavy steps clamber up the stairs and burst into his room. Sans turns to find him balancing a greasy brown bag, bottle of ketchup, a styrofoam cup Sans would bet contains a vanilla milkshake, and, ludicrously, their T.V.

“bro?” Sans asks, dumbstruck. Papyrus beams, setting his loot down, scrambling about for an outlet.

“I THOUGHT-“ He pants, “IF YOU COULDN’T… COME DOWNSTAIRS… AH!” He pauses to pump his fists in the air as he finds his outlet, plugging in the T.V. which comes to life with a satisfying, staticky hum.

“IWOULDBRINGTHEDOWNSTAIRSTOYOU!” Papyrus finishes with a flourish, panting. Sans stares, unsure exactly how he should feel, but knowing there’s no small amount of amazement - it is Papyrus, after all. His brother is so cool.

“ANYWAY,” Papyrus soldiers on, plating two burgers and a handful of fries while nestling the milkshake and ketchup in the crook of his arm.

“PERMISSION TO ENTER BLANKET BURRITO-VILLE?” He asks, softly, flashing a beatific smile.

“permission granted.” Sans finally comes alive, replying with a tired grin and opening up his arms. With a little rearranging, the two skeletons end up curled together on the mattress with their backs to the wall, pressed to each other’s sides, comforter draped across their shoulders. Balancing their plates in their laps, they dig into their burgers and fries. Sans lets himself side-eye Papyrus when his brother finishes his food faster than Sans - he’s about as good at hiding his secret love of Grillby’s as he is his love of puns.

Papyrus asks Sans questions about the program now and then.

“WHAT IS THE MOON MADE OF?” “HOW HOT IS THE SUN?” “ARE THERE REALLY THAT MANY STARS?”

Sans knows he’s really just asking to keep Sans out of his own skull, but Papyrus does look so interested by his answers, and every little “WOWIE” is so heartbreakingly genuine.

The brothers are sipping from their respective drinks, shrouded in a comfortable silence, when the program draws to a close. Papyrus leans his head down to rest lightly atop Sans’, and Sans presses back briefly in reciprocation.

“HOW ARE YOU FEELING, BROTHER?”

Sans sighs, a short thing. “i told you already bro, i’m fine.”

“OKAY.”

Papyrus does a very good job of masking the hurt in his voice, but it’s there nonetheless.

The taller skeleton gets to his feet, careful not to jostle his brother, and gathers their empty plates and bottles before disappearing downstairs into the kitchen. He’s back shortly, crawling greedily back into his cooling seat, but this time he wraps his lanky arms about Sans. The last shreds of his pride want to protest, but they are handily outnumbered by an all-encompassing hole of exhaustion, hopelessness and loneliness.

Sans sinks bonelessly (a feat) into his brother’s embrace.

The skeletons sit in silence for many minutes, vaguely watching the trashy show that has followed the science program.

“I, UH,” Papyrus coughs, garnering Sans’ gaze. “I MISSED THIS.”

Sans’ soul pains at the open _want_ in Papyrus’ voice, and suddenly he can’t help himself, it’s someone else whose replying, “i missed _you_.”

Papyrus flinches like he’s been hit, but then he’s smiling down at Sans, nearly weepy, and oh, oh no.

Sans can _feel_ it, the quick-shot route his thoughts take, palpable as the gloved thumb rubbing at his lower vertebrae.

“…WOULD IT HELP, IF I…?”

It’s a thing they do. Something they _shouldn’t_ do, something no one can ever find out about. It started with misconceptions and miscommunication, a nagging thread of dependency and isolation, because _of course_ they were the only skeletons each other knew. Things could never be easy for them - luck was always a little out of reach.

It’s wrong, and it needs to stop. Sometimes it’s… nice, to be held, kissed, touched. But there are so many ways it could go wrong, and it’s a miracle it hasn’t all fallen apart yet in tears and shame and sickness. If his brother ever felt the way Sans does about himself…

But Papyrus is looking at him with such a bright, fond gaze, so eager to help.

“couldn’t hurt.” Sans lies.

It’s Papyrus who moves first, big black eye sockets staring deep into Sans’, looking for the go-ahead. His hand comes up to cup Sans’ cheek, and at that first touch of soft, familiar fabric Sans lets go and presses their teeth together.

His brother hums into the kiss, happy and expectant, a sound that Sans lives for. Gentle, large hands tug at his hips, and Sans obliges by moving to straddle Papyrus.

Sans wraps his arms around his brother’s shoulders, a loose but warm hold that Papyrus - having been at such a loss for contact - near keens at. He lets Papyrus surge forward to kiss him harder, teeth clipping each other, conjured tongues intertwining.

Stars, it would figure that Papyrus is a fantastic kisser.

Breaking only for breath, the brothers rearrange themselves, Sans pushing Papyrus back against the wall and climbing atop him. Their clothed pelvis’ meet and Papyrus shudders, having to hold himself back, suddenly flushed with want.

Sans jolts as Papyrus suddenly tugs his shirt up and over his head, forcing Sans back as he finds himself suddenly naked from the waist up. He doesn’t get more than a moment to think about it before Papyrus is upon him again, now fondling his bare ribs with warm phalanges, having torn his gloves off, kissing at his collarbone.

“CLOTHES, SANS.” Papyrus groans, demanding. “I WANT TO SEE YOU.”

The two continue to undress in a hurry, Papyrus kicking off his boots as Sans undoes his chest piece - both of them wriggle out of their shorts together, and are unsurprised to find hot, wet magic pooling in each other’s pelvic cavities.

Papyrus is still soft beneath Sans, magic half-formed, not yet fully coalesced into something he can use. He scrapes along his brother’s neck, letting the tips of his phalanges press into the delicate space between vertebrae. Papyrus’ breath catches, and Sans momentarily misses the warmth besides his neck.

Feeling Papyrus’ large hands grip about his spine has Sans gasp into the space between them, bucking forward to grind into Papyrus’ pelvis, only to find a hard length there. Sans’ metaphorical gut twists, half anxious and half desperate with want - it’s been a long time since he’s taken Papyrus’ cock. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten any action at all. It’s probably part depression and part, well… he doesn’t want to think about Papyrus. Doesn’t want to fuck himself to the thought of Papyrus.

Of late, try as he might, he sees his little brother’s blissed out face when he cums.

Of late, he hears “SANS, I LOVE YOU.”

Of late, he hates himself.

Papyrus’ hands trail lower, easing themselves between his legs. Sans is soaked, making for a smooth glide as Papyrus slowly teases apart his newly conjured folds. His brother kisses him gently, like it’s their first time.

It’s not.

It’s been their longest dry spell, since… shit, probably since they were just stupid not-quite-kids. Just as like to cum as to bust into giggles at a bad, boner-killing pun.

It’s not like that now.

Sans feels like the most important monster in the Underground under Papyrus’ careful scrutiny, pressing in light with two and then three fingers as he fucks him open. Sans wants to hide from it. It’s too much.

He cuts off a groan at the gentle curl of his brother’s phalanges, rubbing against his most sensitive spot. This kind of makes him feel like he could do anything. This kind of makes him want to die.

“’s good, bro,” Sans’ smile strains on the last word after it slips from his mouth. “real good. i’m ready.”

He needs more.

He needs this to be over with.

Papyrus looks at Sans like he doesn’t quite believe him, but then Sans grinds his pussy down and his brother is convinced. This close, Sans can hear the focused chant of “OKAY, OKAY,” under Papyrus’ breath as he psyches himself up. Sans closes his eye sockets, tips his head back, as Papyrus’ cock catches on his opening twice before he gets it in.

Papyrus is _big_. It’s a tight fit to get him in, but he takes it very slowly. He always did have a startling amount of self-control. Sans holds on to his brother’s shoulders, sighing as inch after inch stretches him open and fills him until he doesn’t think he can hold anymore.

An embarrassing whimper slips his teeth as Papyrus continues. His brother’s grip on his hips tightens.

“JUST A LITTLE MORE… YOU’RE DOING SO WELL.” He coos.

‘’s a lot.” Sans groans, broken.

“YOU CAN DO IT.”

Finally, Papyrus hilts inside him. Sans sighs, half in relief and half at how _full_ he feels. Papyrus’ dick twitches inside him at the sound.

Sans lets himself fall forward, breathing hard against his brother’s clavicle. Papyrus strokes a loving hand across his skull.

“HOW DO YOU FEEL?”

He gives him a weak thumbs up. “peachy.”

It’s Sans who moves first, lifting himself up before letting himself fall back down onto his brother’s cock. Papyrus’ whole body shivers at the motion, breath coming quick. It’s isn’t long before he’s thrusting up into Sans as well, and then all Sans has to do is hang on, trying and failing to hold back his moans. His brother doesn’t bother, groaning aloud when Sans tightens about him as he nears his orgasm, skull falling back to hit the wall with a thump.

Sans tries to keep his eye sockets shut, pretend it’s someone else’s cock fucking deep into him, but even without his brother’s pleasant little breaths and deep moans, he sees that same blissed-out skull in the back of his eye sockets. God, he wonders whats wrong with him, what happened to make him want this, to turn him into this brother-fucker.

Sans “my brother pity-fucks me when i’m sad” the Skeleton.

Sans can feel his orgasm building, a tight coil of warmth uncurling in his abdomen, and unconsciously presses forward into his brother, angling for his dick to reach farther back.

Sans falls forward, slumping hard against Papyrus’ chest, orgasm abating. Here is the part where he shuts his eye sockets and waits for Papyrus to cum. All he has to do is lay there and let his body be used. He can do it. His favorite thing is doing nothing.

But Papyrus slows his thrusts, until he’s stopped. He’s breathing hard, but smiling warmly at Sans when he picks up his head to find out what the problem is.

“y-you haven’t cum yet.”

He knows. Sans can feel his brother’s thick cock inside him, still painfully hard. It gives a short throb when Sans says “cum” and he does his best not to dwell on it.

“IT’S OKAY. THIS WAS FOR YOU.”

“no, no.” Somehow this is worse. Worse than cleaning his brother’s cum off his spine, worse than pretending he doesn’t see the longing looks that Papyrus tries to hide, worse than hearing him moan breathily the next room over, “SANS, SANS-“

He forces a smile to hide his panic. “ _cum_ on bro, i can’t leave ya hanging. keep going.”

“BUT-“

He drives down on Papyrus’ lap, and his brother keens.

“it’s okay, i can go again.” Sans assures him, even as his cunt clenches painfully at the overstimulation.

Unconvinced but painfully aroused, Papyrus starts up again, thrusting up into Sans’ too-tight pussy. The pressure is almost too much, his cock squeezed in tight warmth, and Papyrus sighs out, “G-GODS, SANS-“

His brother is trembling atop him, pain making way for pleasure, and Sans does his best to revel in it, and not the guilt he feels at turning his brother into _this_. His little brother, his Papyrus, the skeleton who only ever wanted a friend and so Sans took him and twisted that undying devotion and adoration and made him think he had fallen in love with his _brother_.

Shame catches up with Sans before orgasm does. He finds tears slipping down his cheekbones and fights frantically to wipe them away, mortified. Papyrus catches sight, eye sockets going wide.

“SANS, I-“

“it’s fine,” Sans replies with a quick shake of his skull, punctuated with a hard grind onto Papyrus’ stilled hips.

For a moment, he thinks it’s over. Big, black sockets gaze up at him, reverent, horrified.

And then Papyrus reaches up behind his back, tangles his phalanges in Sans’ ribs, and flips him onto his back atop the mattress.

Papyrus pins Sans beneath him, hips still moving, fucking into him deeper at this angle that makes Sans instantly cry out - Papyrus bends to catch the noises falling from his mouth, kissing him deeply. At a loss, Sans wraps his legs around his brother’s hips as he fucks him into his mattress, and claws at his back, begging silently for more, or respite, he doesn’t know.

Pulling back from his teeth, Papyrus nips at his jaw, and then he’s murmuring soft, deliberate words into his neck.

“I LOVE THAT YOU CAN MAKE ANYONE SMILE.”

There’s the slightest whistle caught in his teeth at the end. Papyrus used to hate it as a kid, this soft lisp, and did everything in his power to break out of it, but now when he’s so enraptured, so blissed out, it comes back just a little and Sans adores it, adores him, adores the things he’s doing to him.

“I LOVE YOUR STUPID JOKES, AND I LOVE YOUR WEIRD JOBS.” Papyrus half laughs, before nuzzling deeper into Sans delicate vertebrae, causing him to cry out. Wet heat gushes from his cunt at the action, flooding their pelvis’ and soaking the sheets.

“I LOVE THAT YOU’RE ALWAYS HERE FOR ME.”

Sans wouldn’t ever leave Papyrus.

“I LOVE-“ and here his voice grows shaky, nervous. “I LOVE THAT YOU LET ME DO THIS TO YOU, BECAUSE YOU’RE SO GOOD, SANS, AND YOU DESERVE TO FEEL GOOD.”

“papyrus,” Sans weeps, voice breaking over his name.

“SO PLEASE,” Papyrus soldiers on. “PLEASE CUM FOR ME.”

And when has Sans ever been able to say no to his brother.

He cums, sobbing, choking out half-words and pleas and his brother’s name. Papyrus bends immediately to kiss him, swallowing it all as he shakes in his arms.

Sans is dimly aware of his brother going still, moaning as he fills him with cum. And then he’s full, too full, of thick cock and hot cum and _Papyrus Papyrus Papyrus-_

* * *

When Sans wakes, it’s to freshly laundered sheets and the scent of lemon. Dizzy with sleep and the events of the night, he props himself up on one elbow to find his bones have been wiped clean. The television is gone, as is his trash tornado (he’ll make a new one), and the odd things about his room have been picked up and put away.

The culprit of this clean sweep lies in bed next to him, arms folded over his chest, black eye sockets staring pensively into space. Noticing Sans, Papyrus flashes him a tired smile.

“HEY, SLEEPY SKULL.”

Unsure of what to say, Sans lets himself back down into bed, turned onto his side to stare at his brother. The two lay beside each other in the dark, listening to each other breathe, having crossed another milestone in their messed up relationship.

Out of all the three words Sans could say, they aren’t the ones Papyrus deserves to hear.

“you’re so cool.”

**Author's Note:**

> jesus i put out like one fic a year. sorry
> 
> come talk to me at my tumblr! grundlemuncher.tumblr.com


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